


Mournful Friendships

by askadromming



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, On semi-permanate hiatus, is jacobi dead? who knows, like 0 romance between Alana and Kepler, pretty obviously neuroatypical everyone?, this is a bit sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/askadromming/pseuds/askadromming
Summary: --Several minutes passed, and Maxwell was sitting up. They were pushing their time limit.The SI-5 were not unknown for having some weird time calls, but twenty past their rendezvous? Some strong words would be had.Maxwell drank her water, steadied her head, and watched. She tried to read the output from her viruses, but her eyes refused to focus, and she just gave up.Kepler tried his earpieces, over and over, and over again, and nothing happened.--
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell, Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler, Warren Kepler & Alana Maxwell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. An Explosion and a Loss

The mission was simple, as they so often were.

Get in, set the flimsy paper records alight, set off a few bombs, kill the head archivist, and then grab some McDonalds on the way home.

So that's why Kepler was so utterly  _ frustrated _ to find himself with an unconscious Maxwell, no communication with Jacobi, and no clue where the head archivist was or when the bombs were going to go off, inside of a burning building.

Smoke was billowing through the corridors, making his lungs burn, and his eyes water. Fire flowed everywhere and it was frustrating because it meant they,  _ he _ , was running out of time.

Kepler picked Maxwell up and tried his earpiece again.

"Jacobi, I need an update on your status about, let's say 5 minutes ago."

He waited. Nothing except the rushing fire and creaking building. The occasional grunts of dying people they had shot, stabbed or otherwise taken down.  Maxwell's eyes fluttered open for a second but fell closed again. 

Kepler picked up the pace and dodged around the falling ceiling panels.  The only thing the old building had going for it was how slowly it would go up in flames thanks to the solid wood and brick.

As he ran, he passed by a lit room he hadn't gone into previously. It matched the description of what one of the archivist offices might look like.  As much as he needed to get Maxwell out and find Jacobi, the mission came first. The mission had to come first.

He set Maxwell down outside the room and drew his gun. 

Kepler knew he had no time to be cautious, so he ran in, scanning the room for "Ms. James". 

A shadow moved from behind a bookcase, and while it was probably just more fire (god there was a lot of fire), he didn't have  _ time _ for this. 

So he shot. And when he heard a shriek, and the sound of bullet hitting flesh, hitting wall, he shot again. And since Kepler was pretty pissed off, so he shot a few more times to guarantee she was dead. 

Then he grabbed Maxwell and kept making his way out of the building. He started limping and realized that he had probably gotten stabbed or shot, because now that he thought about it, his leg hurt pretty damn bad.

The sound of Jacobi's hagged breathing through his earpiece should have made him concerned, but it honestly made him relieved knowing that Jacobi hadn't been a fool and gotten himself shot.

"Sir-, I am not- ma-" 

His earpiece, or possibly Jacobi's kept cutting out, making his sentence unintelligible. 

"Kepler? I'm like- 90% sure that- ratted out. Just get Alana out- Stay safe, don't wait for-"

And then it cut out for good. 

"Jacobi? I've lost you. Get to the rendezvous-" 

Kepler got cut off by a beam crashing down, blocking their path. H is shoulder throbbed from the sudden stop.  He cursed before heading back on himself and entered a different hallway.

Warren Kepler was calm, logical, and extremely good in emergency situations. It's why he was perfect for the job.

Warren Kepler was  _ not good  _ at being in a maze-like burning building while carrying dead weight.

But he managed it.

He had to trust Jacobi not to be an idiot. He had to trust Maxwell wouldn't straight up die on him. He had to trust he shot the right person.

Kepler made it outside, and to the truck where it was safely hidden far enough from the building so the timed explosion wouldn't hurt anyone, and put Maxwell into the back of the van to check her vitals.

Heart rate elevated, pupils dilating sluggishly, some kind of hopefully light head trauma, blood pressure normal-ish, breathing shallowly but not dangerously shallow. 

He wished they had brought an oxygen tank just in case, but they had thought this would be a simple mission. If only Jacobi hadn't gotten separated immediately, and the guard hadn't surprised Maxwell, and so much unexpected security, then this wouldn't have happened.  As he wrapped her head with gauze, he kept his eyes locked on the building. He was waiting for the change of something. 

When he finished wrapping her head, he drummed his fingers on the seat. 

No sign of Jacobi or that very important explosion. 

He bandaged his leg, took some painkillers, and  _ watched _ . 

Several minutes passed, and Maxwell was sitting up. They were  _ pushing  _ their time limit. 

The SI-5 were not unknown for having some weird time calls, but twenty past their rendezvous? Some strong words would be had.

Maxwell drank her water, steadied her head, and watched. She tried to read the output from her viruses, but her eyes refused to focus, and she just gave up. 

Kepler tried his earpieces, over and over, and over again, and nothing happened. 

Until it did. And when it did, it was a brilliant burst of red, gold, and heat. Of destruction and light.

That did not scare Kepler or Maxwell. 

Why would it? They'd seen plenty of explosives in their time at Pryce & Carter, and many more working with Daniel Jacobi: Explosives Expert.

No, what scared Warren Kepler and Alana Maxwell, was seeing the tired smile of Daniel Jacobi through the top floor window before the building ruptured in light and heat.

Time froze. 

Not literally of course, but to our characters? 

Both so very close to Daniel Jacobi, the man who loved explosives a little too much for his own good? It felt like an eternity. 

It was as if every moment they had ever lived had been stretched out into a millennium, and that was  _ nothing  _ compared to how long this specific moment was. 

And when time unfroze for them, nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

Well, in reality, nothing and absolutely everything was happening. 

Their eardrums had given up, their eyes shut, arms drawing them in close to protect them from the blast.

And their brains? Their brains were complete opposites.

Alana Sarah Maxwell's brain was as loud as the explosion in front of her. No thought really made itself clear, clearly a concussion in action, but it was a thousand anxieties happening at once.

A million unwanted screams, her  _ soul  _ had just been ripped to shreds. Her other half, her best friend, her  _ Daniel _ . 

Death had always been an option. Of course, it was. It was the reason they had quote "Will & Testament parties" where they had a sleepover while redoing their wills every few years.

But her thoughts weren't rational right now. They weren't logical. It was pure noise, the destruction Jacobi had just caused in front of them was no comparison to the explosions in her head.

Warren James Kepler's brain was complete and utter silence. The aftershock of the explosion Jacobi had caused, was nothing to the utter silence from Warren's brain.

Not a single thought ran through his brain.

No plans, no emotions,  _ nothing. _

It was as if static had been poured into his every blood vessel and he had no way of getting it out. 

He was stuck in tar as clear as the air he breathed.

Seconds passed. Minutes passed. Possibly even an hour passed even though that was illogical. 

Maxwell wasn't an idiot, she knew the police would be there soon, but the terror that ran through her? She needed to do something. Anything. 

She wanted so desperately to run to the fallen remains of the building. She wanted to search for him. For his body. For his dog tag. Anything. 

But Maxwell couldn't do that.

She realized that the sound was gone. Whether because of her probably blown out eardrums or the fact that the explosion was so effective that there was nothing left to make sound, she wasn't sure.

But as the rest of her senses returned, she remembered Kepler was sitting next to her.

Not a single emotion on his face. Not a movement, not a sound. Hell, she wasn't sure if he was even alive, and honestly, she didn't care.

She wanted to slap him for not feeling the pain that overwhelmed her. The terror at knowing that half of her soul had just died.

But, Maxwell was personally knowledgeable at the knowings of how emotions were processed through people, at how people reacted. And she realized that he wasn't processing a single thing.

She was processing so much that she couldn't breathe quick enough. 

He wasn't processing at all and didn't remember to breathe.

Maxwell stared at the remnants of the building. The billowing smoke, stretching up, and up, and up. She could distantly hear, through mountains of static and ringing, the echoing blast throughout the town. 

She looked at Kepler again, knowing it had only been a second since she'd looked at him for the first time since Daniel had  _ died _ , but she knew what to do.

Alana clumsily got to her feet, dragging Kepler behind her. Everything ached, her bones feeling as if they'd snap like her muscles were vibrating under the strain of being awake, but she continued.

She pushed him into the passenger's seat and slammed the door. Maxwell dropped herself into the driver's seat and felt the lurch of the truck as she slammed on the gas pedal.

As she sped off, she glanced at Kepler.

"Kepler, are you hurt? Did you get shot, or stabbed, or burned, shit can you even hear-" 

Maxwell cut herself off. Breathing deep and staring at the road for a few seconds.

When she looked back at Kepler, he had his head cocked slightly and his eyebrows furrowed even though he was still staring straight ahead at the road.

Checking the road for any other drivers, none, she looked at Kepler and snapped.

Her own hearing still was muffled, and it hurt to know she was yelling and only distantly hear it, but she looked for any kind of reaction from Kepler.

None. 

He was silent and stationary.

God they were fucked.


	2. A Whisper of an Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uncalm moment in the hotel.  
> (oh god)

They made it to the hotel in record time. Though it seemed to take days just to get the two of them up the stairs. Maxwell, barely conscious, struggling though a concussion making it very hard to think, and a brain trying very hard to think, and grief making it hard to live, and all of her muscles and bones trying desperately to stop her.

And Kepler, who moved solemnly, but would just stop walking if you didn't put a hand on his shoulder to lead him. She had realized after parking the car, that he would not follow, which had made it exceedingly frustrating to get anywhere.

If none of this had happened today, she'd be fascinated by how Kepler was reacting to this.

She didn't know exactly why, but he'd shut down. Her logical, clear-minded boss, had completely shut down.

The hand that wasn't leading Kepler, was rubbing up and down, and up and down her arm. 

She focused all her attention on it. Just on getting to their room, and on the sensation of her palm over her leather jacket (Daniel's, that she had stolen from him before the mission).

When she finally found their room, she almost collapsed against the door with relief.

Maxwell dragged Kepler inside and sat him down on the couch before locking the door.

Then, she sat down on the floor and sobbed.

Every emotion, every memory, every thought, every feeling, burst to the surface and  _ hurt _ .

Her blood rushing to her head made her want to run or hide, or do something to make it all stop, but her aching everything stopped her in place.

She knew that she was probably bleeding through her bandages, that she had to make sure Kepler wasn't in shock due to an injury, but she couldn't do anything besides cry. Cry, and rock back and forth. Cry and run her hands through her hair until her scalp hurt.

Cry, and remember her Daniel, her best friend, her everything, who was just gone. 

She knew he was dead. She knew he was. She knew she knew, she knew, he was dead, god he was dead. Dead as in permanent, as in she would never see his face again, never hear his voice-

"Maxwell?" 

Kepler was standing next to her. Body language non-existent, though she'd never been  _ good  _ at reading it. Daniel was always the best at that. 

Her blood pumped through every vein, every artery, every bit of her thrummed.

Kepler's head was slightly cocked still. She didn't know if he had ever stopped.

He looked so confused, so very still. 

Of all things that had to fail on her now, Kepler had to as well? He couldn't just stay his cold, horrible self?

Kepler slowly folded himself into a sitting position and watched her.

"Hon-honestly Kepler? Just- fuck off already." She said, voice broken, heartbroken, mind broken.

And she looked at his still face and started sobbing again.

Maxwell understood, logically, she was being hugged, and logically she knew it was Kepler, and logically she was hugging him back and sobbing.

But illogically nothing made sense anymore.

And how could it? Both of their "in's" to humanity were gone. Now they were lost, oh god they were both so unbelievably lost now.

They stayed in the hotel for a week. For a week someone was always in the hotel, no matter what.

For six days, Maxwell couldn't go more than three hours without a panic attack.

For five days, Kepler refused to leave the hotel.

For four days, Maxwell forgot to eat.

For three days, Kepler was silent.

For two days neither of them could hear clearly.

For a day neither of them moved.

And then, they moved. They heard, they stayed silent, but they ate, they left the hotel, told the rescue team that Jacobi was probably dead, that they were coming back to Canaveral, that they, and only they, were alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will still be another chapter on the 10th this is just a surprise mini-chapter.  
> Remember to subscribe & kudos.


	3. Failure Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warren Kepler is not good at grief.

Marcus Cutter was an interesting man with horrible morals, but he liked SI-5 (the remaining members at least), and he knew they would need time. He wasn't prepared for _how much_ time they would need, as shown when their hour debriefing took three hours because apparently grief had taken away their ears.

Cutter did not get surprised easily and was very discouraged when he owed Young fifty dollars because, yes, even he could see the changes in Warren. Disheartening stuff.

So instead of wasting time and probably a fair bit of money on them, he forced them to take six months of vacation time off to recover. Pity.

-

Kepler sat at his dining room table, in his apartment, and did nothing. 

Warren Kepler did not ever "just sit". He had purpose, motivation,  _ intentions. _

And he certainly didn't sit at his table in his ridiculously empty apartment because he has no real reason to eat. Or do anything at all.

And it had nothing to do with Jacobi. Really. He just happened to feel so very empty because of the idea of training a new recruit in 6 months.

No, he was Warren J. Kepler. There had been plenty of operatives deaths that he had watched. (god it was his fault)

No reason to feel so tired, so utterly broken by seeing Jacobi's dumb, stupid, useless smile right before he had died. No reason at all.

He would have been startled by the sudden knock at his door if he was real enough to be surprised. (what does real even mean?) 

So, Kepler slowly got up and found his door. He didn't know who it was. Why would it be anyone at all?

It was Maxwell. 

She was angry. And considering the eyebags that likely mirrored his own, she was exhausted. 

"Maxwell, what can I do for you?"

She trudged past him, throwing her coat on his couch, and making her way to his kitchen.

Kepler followed her like a duckling. He did not understand why she was in his apartment. (why she did not just kill him on the spot, he killed her best friend)

Maxwell dumped a previously unseen bag of groceries on his marble counter and started routing around for a pot.

He sat down at the table and watched her. He had no words to tell her. 

She opened his fridge and pulled out a bag of old carrots, before making eye contact with him and tossing it into the garbage.

Kepler had no reason to argue.

"There's a bag of them in the freezer." He said, his voice quiet and monotone.

Maxwell nodded and opened the freezer, pulling out bags of various vegetables and tossing them on the counter.

Kepler did not know how long he watched her, or how long it took him to realize she was making soup, or when he finally fell asleep on the table.

Eventually, he woke up. Not because of anything specifically, more of a combination of many things.

The smell of soup, the sound of a tv show in the background, muffled crying, and the occasional laugh. 

He did not wake up at any specific time, instead listening, and feeling until he was awake.

Kepler quietly got up and walked into his living room. He knew it was Maxwell, but he needed to check, and why was she crying? (oh wait he killed Jacobi, it was all his fault)

His living room was a mess.

A drama was playing on his tv, a waste bin had been dragged out from under his desk and was filled with tear-stained tissues, Maxwell was on his couch with just about a million papers, a good eight or so laptops around her, and several tubs of ice cream at various stages of being eaten.

"I see you really went to town, Maxwell." He tried to lean into his commanding voice. Tried elevating his posture, make people listen, be in control again.

But she just laughed tearfully.

"There's soup on the stove and warm bread in the oven. Eat some or it'll go to waste."

Kepler couldn't argue with that logic. He joined her on the couch.

"Miss Maxwell, may I ask why there are about eight million papers strewn over my living room?" 

"First off, when I'm not on the clock, don't call me miss, two, in case Daniel, really is..." she faltered for a second. "Well since he's likely dead, the cut off for no evidence just suspected death is about 8 months, so I have to get all of his records in order, and collect the online ones so I can wipe them when they call it."

"And may I ask why that is happening in my living room?"

Maxwell looked sad again. She slouched a little further into a hoodie that Kepler knew had been Daniel's.

"Well...he pretty much lived at my place half the time, and so everything is reminding me of him, and I needed to check you weren't dead since apparently, that was "super important" to Daniel to make sure I do, so I thought I'd multitask. Now please shut up, we're on the season finale."

She watched the show while typing into her keyboard. 

As Kepler studied the papers around him, he felt something cold nudge his hand. 

He realized it was the robotic robin that used to follow Jacobi.

"Isn't this bird Jacobi's? Why is it still active if he's not near?"

Maxwell looked at him like he was an idiot. (he had failed Jacobi and Maxwell, no wonder she knew how dumb he was, he had failed)

"I built it for him obviously. And her name is Circuit, use it. She only can listen to 3 people, so if one of them isn't around anymore, she'll find the next person in line. If all three are gone then she will shut down until they are within 5 miles."

Kepler drummed his fingers on the bowl.

"Who's the third person?" He asked curiously. 

She smiled bittersweetly.

"I told Daniel to tell you. Guess he forgot. I'm sure you've noticed before."

Kepler felt very dumb. (of course, he should, he killed Jacobi)

He remembered the time Maxwell and Jacobi were off to a convention and he couldn't get Circuit to stop following him or turn off, so he eventually just left it to sit on his shoulder the rest of the week.

Kepler leaned over Maxwell's shoulder to see what she's doing.

"This is his old Facebook and Twitter. They've been inactive since before he got recruited, and they left it up to be more realistic of his "death", but now that he's...well, it'll need to be wiped, so I'm transferring some of his tweets and statuses that remind me of him to a vault document."

Kepler understands but doesn't say anything. He just watches what Maxwell is doing.

Eventually, she gets up and brings him soup and bread and he eats.

Something about the soup makes him sad, and surprisingly, he starts crying. 

He is completely silent, but before he noticed, he had tears streaming down his face.

Maxwell glanced at him.

"Oh. I'm sorry. It's...I...I made the "failure soup" as Daniel called it. He always made it when the mission went to shit. I just...it was the only meal I knew you'd always eat no matter what."

Warren nodded and wiped the tears off his face. He couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed. 

"It's fine Maxwell. I didn't even realize."

She didn't make eye contact and instead handed him some chocolate ice cream.

He took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all.  
> Next chapter will be out the 20th, so make sure to subscribe so you don't miss it.  
> It has robots!


	4. A Little Bird Named Ceril

Alana  _ hated _ grief. 

She hated the patheticness, the oppressive frustration of everything being tinged with loss. 

She hated the emotions of loss. 

The anger, the depression, the disbelief. 

Maxwell hated it because she knew why it was happening. 

So she tried to ignore it. She snuck into her office and moved all of her equipment to her apartment.

Then she'd work. She'd build countless things.

She built small birds constantly. She tried to complete them, but she never could make herself build that last piece, program that last bit.

The shape was the easiest part. Build a metal bird skeleton, then put plating on. Make small printed feathers of beautiful colors. Assemble it. 

But the hardest part was building an accurate bird AI.

Try to create something that can create the connections to experience compassion but isn't built for love. Sometimes designed for a purpose, some to just be a being. 

She loved it. Getting to program a personality for the birds, and then letting the program run and create its own traits.

It calmed her, making something so low stakes. 

Daniel loved the birds. He'd always wanted a pet robin, so she built him one. But it's battery died after a month, so together they created a more studier one. 

Then Daniel got put in the hospital for two months because he took a bullet for Kepler. 

So she had made dozen of birds. Dozens of AI. But none that really worked until Circuit. And then she left the rest in folders and boxes.

Alana does not like leaving unfinished things.

So, she is currently sitting on her living room floor sobbing on a man's leather jacket. A finished, small, grey, robotic parrot is sitting next to her.

Ceril is staring at her curiously because he was created to have curiosity. He is MXWLL's most curious creation. 

Ceril is aware of who he was created for. But he does not know them, and he doesn't know if he will ever know them.

MXWLL is leaving the room now, and he does not follow. He knows the layout of the apartment, this building, this town, this world.

He knows she is going to her bedroom to sleep for 16 hours, give or take 43 minutes, on average. She is depressed. She is grieving.

Ceril thinks he should start searching.

Run Processing, and Diagnostics.

Run Decision Making. 

Correct, he should leave. 

He flaps his wings. He knows he is a spectacular robot, a first in this complexity of winged mechanical flying. 

He locates the window.

Alana wakes up from her shortlived sleep from a crash of a window and a thudding on her wood floor and she already knows what happened.

"God fucking damn it, Ceril."

Alana walks out to her living room.

She sees that Ceril, the only bird she has successfully finished in the month since Daniel, crashed through the first pane of window glass, and then fell onto the floor.

She wants to cry. To scream?

Maxwell does not touch the bird first.

No, first, she looks at the computer connected to his AI & software.

Then she groans.

"This dumb fucking bird didn't think to learn what glass looks like! God damnit!" 

She only barely holds herself back from tossing the bird through her window.

Ceril does not feel, but he wonders if he was alive if he would feel sensations.

"You are alive Ceril, don't be an idiot."

He isn't able to diagnose if he heard MXWLL through his ears or if she put it into him through a computer.

"Your minimal hearing system is down, I'll upgrade it in a bit. Ceril, you can't feel pain, right? I'll shut you down while I do this if you'd rather."

No, he does not think he feels pain. Ceril knows where his wings are in relation to the rest of him, but he does not  _ feel _ them.

Alana does shut him down when she has to solder his wing joints back into place. She only has to completely put back one of the joints, but two are badly damaged.

She doesn't know how long she spent repairing Ceril. Maybe an hour, maybe ten, maybe a day. 

But when she's done, he looks beautiful, splendid.

Alana just looks at him for a while. She is unsure if he crashed into the window because he couldn't fly well (it's been so long since she made Circuit, maybe she messed up his wing structure), or if he has bad depth perception.

Both were worrying, but one was much easier to fix than having to completely scrap Ceril's body.

And she'd feel so bad if she took his AI out of this body, just as he's connected with it, and he might get some developmental issues or get sa-

**_ DING _ **

Maxwell's door rings.

She quietly asks her apartment, "Who is it?"

A soft female voice, reminiscent of her first girlfriend, says "Unknown. Never visited before. Would you like me to scan Goddard resource banks?"

As she rifles through cabinets for a gun she replies softly, "Yes please, and drain as much energy from battery six to do so."

Kelab, a little helping robot chirps, and hands her a gun. 

"Oh thanks so much, Kelab, you're a lifesaver."

The small robot scurries away and hides in the wall.

"A match has been found. The identity of the man at your door has an 87% match to a man named Tom Stoke, who worked at the location of your most recent mission."

Alana breaths in, and out.

Then she opens her door, finger ready to shoot.

Behind the door is a thin Korean-American man, with jet black hair and tattoos winding up both his arms. Which are up in the air.

Maxwell does not drop her gun.

"You are the bitch they called in to wipe out the Archives, right?"

Maxwell stays silent. She wonders if Ceril was affected by the shutdown that her apartment commenced when she opened the door. She wonders if she'll have to bury this man in an hour. 

"Leave right now and I won't shoot you."

(She likely will anyway)

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm just here to tell you that some people survived, like me. Not many...but...yeah. Your pal may have survived."

And that's it. That's all it takes her to shoot him in the head.

Most of the apartments in her building are shells, completely barren, they don't even have advertising up.

So Alana Maxwell takes a moment to sob. And she does. For several minutes she sobs. Because what if he's right? Her Jacobi could still be alive? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its late, my mother just went in for surgery, the governor shut down our state completely which means the animal shelter I work at just got shut down and we have to find fosters for all the animals by Sunday, so it's been hectic. not sure when next chapter will be out, so make sure to subscribe.


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